Vengeance: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 1 (10 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

C
rystal watched the
red Jaguar a few car lengths ahead roll to a stop near the front entryway of the Phillips’ mansion. A woman dressed in a stunning black Carolina Herrera stepped out onto the curb, her husband joined her, and one of the valets drove the car away. Crystal’s gaze strayed to the Band-Aid in the center of Vinton’s throat. She couldn’t imagine how he had managed an invitation to an event of this caliber, but wasn’t going to risk upsetting him by asking.

One of the valets opened her door, took her hand, and assisted her out of the truck. She joined Blackwell at the curb. “This feels like we’re arriving at the Oscars or something, Papa. All that’s missing is the red carpet.”

“Just look like you own the joint.” He took her hand, and they followed the line of guests entering the stone mansion of Melvin and Melanie Phillips.

“Welcome, Mr. Blackwell,” a tall man in a black tuxedo with thick gray hair greeted them.

“It’s nice to be here, Mr. Phillips. Let me introduce you to my stepdaughter, Crystal Thomas.”

Melvin Phillips reached out and took her hand in his. Crystal smiled, despite her irritation that he was staring at her like a piece of candy. She wanted to pull her hand away, but Phillips continued to squeeze it.

“My wife Melanie is somewhere around here,” Phillips said. His plump hold finally let go of Crystal’s hand, and he passed onto the next guests.

Crystal took a glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray and watched in amusement as her stepfather studied a large framed piece of modern art.

“Papa, how do you know Mr. Phillips?”

“I met him at Sam’s. The man certainly knows his way around a poker table,” he said, moving to the next painting. Crystal watched Mr. Phillips take the arm of a stunning tall blond-haired woman dressed in an emerald gown, and she followed her stepfather toward them.

“Melanie, I’d like to introduce you to Vinton Blackwell and his charming stepdaughter Crystal.”

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance,” the woman said, offering her hand to Vinton, then smiling at Crystal. Crystal noticed Mrs. Phillips’ reaction to her stepfather. She’d seen it before. He had the physicality of a much younger man, and that coupled with his chiseled Nordic features made women melt.

“You have an amazing art collection, Mrs. Phillips. It’s very impressive.”

“Thank you,” Melanie said, taking a step closer to him. “It’s been a hobby of mine for quite some time.”

Melvin motioned for Crystal to join him. She disliked the thought of spending time with the old lech, but walked with him anyway. On her way she spotted one of the waiters with a full tray of champagne and paused to scoop up another glass.

“Tell me about your hobbies, dear,” Melvin said, taking a glass for himself. He brought the glass to his lips and drained it. The waiter stood near them.

“Well, I’m not into art,” she admitted.

He gave a short laugh. “I find that refreshing. What is it you’re into?”

“Skiing,” Crystal said.

“Downhill, cross country, or water?”

“Downhill. I don’t have the patience for cross-country, and there aren’t any lakes in Colorado big enough for waterskiing,” Crystal said.

“Oh, do you live in Colorado?” Melvin asked, eyeing the party. Crystal waited for his attention to return.

“Yes, I live in Denver, and my stepfather and I share a little villa up near Vail.”

“That means we’re practically neighbors,” Melvin said with sudden enthusiasm. She cringed as his hand ran down her back and lingered just above her hips. “I have a house up on the golf course.”

Crystal wanted to pull away from his touch, but she knew she’d been brought along to occupy Melvin. She just wasn’t sure why.

“Crystal, come this way. There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.” Crystal let herself be guided toward a woman dressed in a bright red gown with her back to them.

“Kathryn, I’m so glad you could come tonight,” Melvin said. The woman turned to face them. “Crystal, I’d like to introduce you to Dr. Kathryn Anders. Kathryn, this is Crystal Thomas.” Crystal smiled at the woman, vaguely thinking they’d met before. “Kathryn has been busy appraising all the pieces we will be auctioning off next month.”

“That sounds like an interesting job,” Crystal said.

Two young waiters opened a pair of double doors up ahead. Someone tapped a spoon on a glass, and she saw her stepfather and Melanie Phillips standing on the left side of a large crowd. The room fell silent as Melanie began to speak.

“Melvin and I would like to thank everyone for coming this evening. If you’ll come this way, cocktails and dinner will be served in the grand hall, and afterward we have a special announcement to make.” Crystal watched the guests flow past Melvin on their way to dinner. She held back, hoping to lose him.

“Would you be my escort, dear?”

Chapter Twenty-Three

A
s Reece became
awake, he found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. It wasn’t the house he’d entered searching for Owen Roberts. He blinked his eyes and tried to find an escape from the dull, throbbing pain. Reaching out, he gripped the side of the bed and felt cold steel. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, and he realized he was in the same jail cell he’d been led to the previous day.
Fuck, why am I still here?

He realized he’d missed picking up his mother for their dinner at Jamils Steakhouse in Tulsa Thursday evening.
I hope she’s not worried.
Of course she didn’t trust him anyway. She never had. That’s why she constantly patronized him.
I’ll show her. I just need to get out of this damned place. Get back to solving this missing person’s case, so I can devote all of my time to finding out who murdered Dad.

He gripped both sides of his forehead, thinking about what he’d done.
What if Dad went back to get pictures of Zimeratti and he saw something that led him to the farm casino? It never would have happened if I’d held onto that damned Canon camera.
The sense of guilt was overwhelming and he wondered if somehow being clubbed in the head had made it worse.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his mind. Reece knew there’d be more questioning the next day and he needed his sleep. He stared out past the dull white bars of his holding cell. A sixty-watt bulb hung from the ceiling behind its wire cage. He let his mind zone out back to better days. Reece remembered sitting in the dimly lit garage holding a flashlight and watching his father Al try to reassemble the carburetor for the GTO. They were done and it was time to put it back onto the dull gray manifold that sat on top of the engine. Al looked down at the metal can they’d been using to clean parts and saw four screws and a small coil spring. He’d put everything back together and still had parts remaining.

He looked up at his son dumbfounded and then watched as Reece tore down the carburetor and reassembled it adding the spring and the four Phillips head screws. They put it on the manifold and later Al let his seven-year-old son turn the key and start the car. At a young age he’d begun to tell his dad his ideas of how to put things back together, and for the most part Reece had always been correct. He remembered his father telling him, “You’re going to be an engineer someday.”

Reece stretched his arms above his head and groaned, looking toward the small rectangular window above the commode. It felt good to stretch. The space was small, but had all the necessary furnishings for an overnight stay.

He was still trying to piece together his fractured memory. The doctor had visited the night before, and suggested he was still suffering from a concussion, but he didn’t require a return visit to the hospital. He’d informed Reece of an overnight stay for observation Tuesday night, and was told that he had no memory of the occasion. The doctor expressed concern and told Reece he needed cognitive rest.

“Wow, you’re a carbon copy of your old man,” Reece heard someone say on the other side of the bars. He sat upright, and saw a thick man who at first glance looked like Teddy Roosevelt. Reece studied the man’s tailored black suit, bushy gray hair parted to the left, and his shirt pulling at the center button behind the suit jacket, suggesting the need for exercise.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” the man said, looking in at Reece like some primate in a zoo. “Mike Mobley. I worked with your dad when he was a detective.”

Reece got to his feet and shoved a hand through the bars. “Good to meet you,” Reece said, and then heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

“You can let Mr. Culver out of his cell. I’d like to have a chat with him in room six,” Mobley said. He headed toward the room where Reece had talked to the public defender. The cell door opened with a “clank” and Reece stepped out. Officer Felps was standing in the aisle, smiling.

“Turn and face the bars,” he said, taking Reece’s hands behind his back and fastening on a pair of bright steel handcuffs. Felps led him down the hallway and into the room where he’d been questioned earlier. Mobley was inside sitting in a chair with his coat hanging on the back.

“Take the cuffs off and leave us,” he said to officer Felps, waving his hand.

“Tell me what got you in here, Reece,” Mobley said with a grin.

“I’m working on a missing person’s case for a client of mine. She grew up at the home on Calvin Avenue here in St. Louis. I went there to look for clues about the disappearance of her mother Tracey Roberts.”

“Okay, so you were in the house looking for clues,” Mobley said. He was studying Reece’s face like he was trying to find a resemblance between him and his father.

“The house was full of meth addicts, and one of them managed to get my flashlight. I’d been attacked earlier and fired a single shot into the rafters to clear the place,” Reece said.

“Okay, that explains the gunshot residue on your right hand. What happened next?”

“I waited for the place to clear. A little while later I bent down to grab my light, and that’s when I got smacked in the head. That was it, lights out. The next thing I remember is those bozos of yours playing good cop, bad cop.”

“Did you tell this to the detectives last night?”

“I never got a chance.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

M
ichael Zimeratti walked
down the overgrown dirt path from the main casino building to one of the galvanized steel sheds still left on the property from its days as a working farm. It was the kind of circular outbuilding that farmers use to store grain. He took a breath and blew out a stream of moist winter condensation, still wondering why Owen Roberts had decided to turn on them. Especially after all he’d been through. He knew Owen had a history with Shanks and Blackwell, but he thought it crazy for him to work against them with the FBI.

The steel clasp of the second padlock felt cold to his touch and he rattled the lock, trying to get it undone. Zimeratti heard Owen’s chains scraping on the wood floor inside.

“You stupid son of a bitch. You still with us?” Zimeratti yelled as he pulled open the rusted door and stuck the barrel of the shotgun inside, tapping Owen’s foot.

“Keeping me locked up like some goddamned animal, after all I done for you guys. Does that give you your jollies?” Owen snapped back.

“You’re lucky Sam didn’t let Blackwell have his way with you last night. Hell you might have ended up laying next to that dealer Rocco in his deathbed. Wherever that is.”

“All you got a do is unlock these chains and we can get out of here. We can start over somewhere’” Owen said, pleading with Zimeratti.

“I brought you some food and a light bulb to give you a little warmth. I don’t know what lies ahead for you, Owen, but no need for you to freeze to death,” Zimeratti said as he set a cafeteria-style plastic tray down between Owen’s outstretched legs and stood up to screw a hundred-watt light bulb into the overhead socket. “There’s a switch for the light right here if you want it off.”

Owen flinched at the sound of someone else banging on the side of the galvanized steel outbuilding, and he instantly rolled up onto his knees. Zimeratti pushed the rusted door open, bringing sunlight into the dim interior.

“Just me. Michael, you got a minute?” Shanks said. Zimeratti slammed the door shut and clinched both padlocks before joining in with Shanks’ cadence, walking down a narrow path that led toward the woods. Tall clumps of grass scraped their boots as they walked and left streaks of moisture on their pant legs.

“I got to tell you, it didn’t surprise me all that much to hear that Owen was working for the other side. Michael, we need to keep our eye on the ball. You and I both know Vinton is a troubled man. He always has been. I’m not saying Owen Roberts is the best of characters, but he would have done much better in life if he’d never crossed Blackwell’s path,” Shanks said. “We need Owen’s help packing the business, so I want you to do your best to control Blackwell.”

“That’s like telling me to control a cobra,” Zimeratti said.

“I’ve got a plan, Michael. In a few weeks we’ll be past all of this and living the good life in a place where no one can get to us. Your old man, Anthony, was there for me more than a few times. I made him a promise and I’ll stick to it.”

“What sort of a plan are you talking about?”

“Not now, Michael, just keep your eye on the ball.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

R
eece sat in
Mike Mobley’s office on the fifth floor of the downtown St. Louis police building, waiting for his return. He’d visited the same floor once before when Haisley had an office there and he’d tagged along with his dad. The walls were still a dull brown, and he doubted much else had been changed since his last visit.

He’d caught a lucky break when he recognized Officer Felps the night before and told him he was Al’s son. It turned out that Felps had called Mike Mobley, the chief of detectives, and Reece was soon freed from jail.

He heard the heavy steps of someone coming, and Mike Mobley walked past and plopped down behind his prominent wooden desk. His cheeks were red and the tie he wore looked like it might be cutting off his breath. He smiled at Reece.

“I just talked to the DA. You’re off the hook for now, but he still considers you a suspect,” Mobley said.

“So what’s that mean for me?” Reece said, having an idea.

“It means they may still have questions, but for now you’re free to go.”

Reece promptly stood up and headed for the door.

“Hey, if you have time, I’d like to buy you lunch,” Mobley said, looking like the kind of guy who was especially fond of lunches.

“Sure, I got the time for a guy who sprung me out of jail.”

The two men walked to the elevator, and they rode down a few floors in awkward silence. Just because they both knew Reece’s father didn’t mean they knew each other.

“I made a call and got your rental out of impound. It’s parked right over there,” he said pointing to the blue Mazda. “Let’s take my truck, though.”

They were listening to Garth Brooks and driving parallel to the Mississippi River when Mobley silenced the radio and turned toward Reece. “So, let me get this straight. A little over a year ago, you took a leave of absence from a high-paying job as an aerospace engineer to try your hand at investigative work.”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’ve spent all that time trying to figure out who took your father’s life while surviving on private investigation wages.”

“Yup, that’s about it,” Reece said.

“Mind if I ask why you didn’t keep your old job and hire a seasoned investigator?”

“Like you?”

“Well, like me except someone who investigates cold case murders for a living.”

“You want the truth?” Reece asked.

“Give it to me.”

“Because the St. Louis PD and the FBI both screwed up. I figured, what the hell, I’d give it a shot. I couldn’t do any worse than they did,” Reece said. “If I don’t do it, no one else will.”

“But you’re in the prime of your life. You spent all those years going to school to get your education,” Mobley said. “Not just any education, but an engineering degree.”

“That’s true, but once you have an education, it’s for life. Once I solve my father’s case I can go back to what I did before.”

“So that’s your plan. You’re going to solve Al’s case and then go back to working for NASA?”

“Something like that”

Reece watched Mobley slow to peruse the parking lot and after realizing there weren’t any places pull his truck up to the sidewalk a few hundred yards past the restaurant. Reece followed him toward the diner. Once inside, he looked up at the textured plaster ceiling and noticed a juke box in the corner playing Patsy Cline. It tugged at Reece’s memory and took him back to a day he’d eaten lunch with his father in a similar place. He stared at the far wall in deep thought, picturing his father’s face and his kind voice. He’d spent his whole life trying to earn his acceptance.

“I’ve been coming here for years. They got a great menu, and you can’t beat the prices,” Mobley said, sliding into an empty booth. “You okay, Culver?”

Reece heard his name and came back to the present time, crawling into the booth across from him. Mobley picked up a newspaper that had been left behind by the previous patron.

“This is what’s wrong with our god damned country,” he said. “If we could find some way to secure our borders and keep the drugs out, the crime rate in this country would no longer be a problem. It seems like every single case we get here in St. Louis has a connection to drugs.”

“If I was in charge of this country, I’d make one change that would fix that,” Reece said.

“Oh yeah, what would that be?”

“Have you ever heard of a MOA?”

“No, I can’t say I have. What’s that?” Mobley asked.

“It’s a Military Operations Area. We have them all over the country. It’s where the military practices. There are lots of them out in the desert Southwest,” Reece said.

“Okay, so what do MOA’s have to do with the drug war?”

“We take twenty miles along each of our borders and make them Military Operations Areas. You post tanks, soldiers, and fighter jets in them 24/7. Anything that moves that’s not supposed to be there gets blown to bits. Drug war over,” Reece said watching Mobley shake his head.

“Good idea. You got any more Culverisms?”

A waitress came and dropped two red and white menus that looked like they were a relic of the 1960’s in front of them.

“We already know what we want,” Mobley said. “He’ll have a number one special and I’ll have a number six.”

Reece looked at the menu and quickly figured that the cheeseburger and fries special Mobley had ordered for him would do the trick. “I’ll have a Diet Coke too.”

Once she had left, Mobley gave Reece a tight smile. “First off, I want to apologize for my over eager detectives. St. Louis is a much different place than the town you and your dad lived in. We have our hands full.”

“They had me worried for a little while. I’m glad I recognized Officer Felps,” Reece said, beginning to relax for the first time since driving into St. Louis three days before.

“Felps is a good guy. Your father and I used to go hunting with him along the river back in the day. Reece, speaking of your father, there’s something I need to tell you,” Mobley said.

“Yeah, what’s that?” Reece said studying one of the waitresses as she served a group of college kids a couple of booths away.

“The night your dad went to that casino out in the country, he called me for backup. I’ve carried this burden with me for years, Reece.”

“What are trying to say, Mike?”

“It was a Friday night. I remember it well because I had been chasing this gal Marci. Anyway, I finally convinced her to go out with me. It was my lucky night. We were back at my place and had polished off close to a fifth of bourbon,” Mobley said, staring past him like he was reliving the memory.

“So, what’s this got to do with my old man?”

“I remember Marci had taken my hand and was leading me down the hallway when the phone rang. I’d just made chief detective, so I had to answer it, but I wasn’t in any condition to drive. I wouldn’t have been any help to your dad that night.”

“So what’s that got to do with the night my dad got gunned down?” Reece asked.

“It was late—I’d say eleven or so—when I got the call from Al. He’d parked at a liquor store out in Malum. He’d been staked out all day at Anthony Zimeratti’s house, trying to get pictures of Zimeratti with one of his mistresses,” Mobley said. “Al was working for Mrs. Zimeratti’s divorce lawyer.”

“There’s no way it was eleven at night when my father called you,” Reece said. “I have the pictures from his camera and it was just before dark when he took them.”

“Okay, maybe it wasn’t that late. Like I said, I’d had a lot to drink.” Mobley said, pursing his lips. “Did your dad ever tell you about the incident on the rooftop in East St. Louis when he and Haisley were partners?”

Reece wasn’t sure why the conversation had turned in this direction. “Yeah, he told me all about it one day in the garage a year or two before he died,” Reece said wondering where his story was going.

“When your dad was at Zimeratti’s house, he spotted the guy that beat him to a pulp on that roof back in 05’. Your dad followed him that night, and the guy led him to the casino out in Malum. He’d turned into the liquor store parking lot across the street from the entrance to that place to call for some backup. I remember hearing him say he’d already tried Haisley but got no answer.”

“So let me guess you blew him off that night for a piece of ass.”

“I made the wrong choice, Reece. I was drunk and I—”

Reece stood up, slapped a twenty down on the table, and walked away, leaving Mobley and his BS behind. He smiled grimly at the cashier on his way out the door, trying to reel in the anger that threatened to explode.

He half expected Mike Mobley to chase after him, but then knew it would never happen. The fat bastard might miss scarfing down the rest of his French fries. That wouldn’t happen. Not today anyway.

Reece thought about Crystal and his case. He needed a cab so he could get back to the Mazda rental car and head back to Tulsa. He thought about the streets they’d driven and remembered seeing a few cabs a couple of blocks over before they’d taken a left onto the street where the café was located.

He felt the rattle of his phone in his front pants pocket, reached in to pull it out, and noticed he had several missed calls. He answered.

“Yes.”

“Reece, are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?” Reece said, startled. It was like his mother had ESP.

“Mike Mobley called me this past Thursday. The night you were supposed to take me to dinner,” Helen Culver said.

“He did? What did he want?”

“He said I should hire you a good lawyer. I should get Haisley involved if I needed to. He said you might have killed someone, Reece.”

Her voice was edging toward hysteria, and he quickly corrected that notion. “He was wrong, Mom. It was all just a big misunderstanding.”

“I don’t believe you, Reece. Where are you now?”

“I’m on my way to get a taxi. I just had lunch with Mobley,” Reece said.

“Reece, I hope you’re not in danger. I can’t afford to lose another member of our family. I don’t know what you’re involved in, but why don’t you drop it? Let the police handle it.”

“That’s an idea,” Reece said irritably.

“Are you coming back to Tulsa?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there later today. Why?”

“Reece, honey. I don’t think you’re cut out for this investigation business you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Sometimes I wonder too,” Reece said, wanting to end the call, but not wanting to hang up on his mother.

“Reece, if one of my boys was going to follow in his father’s footsteps, I’d have thought it would have been your brother. He’s the athletic one, the tough guy. Reece, you’re an engineer. You went to school and did so well. How many investigators do you know who have a college degree?”

“Mom, most of them do.”

“How about an expensive aerospace engineering degree?” Helen said. “Reece, you’re not cut out to be a private investigator.”

Reece held the phone out and stared at the end button. How dare she say that to him? “You know, Mom, I’ve sacrificed a lot for you, for this family. You’d think you’d be on my side for once. Maybe you could work at appreciating what I’m trying to do here.”

He hung up after that, burning inside. First, Mobley confesses he was drunk the night of, and now his mother wanted to belittle him again. Why doesn’t everyone just leave me alone? he thought bitterly. Then I’ll solve the damn case.